Eli Varnish spent most of his life drawing straight lines for crooked cities. As an architect, he designed libraries, train stations, and far too many gray, forgettable office buildings. He was always more interested in light than concrete — the way it moved through windows, shifted on floors, or disappeared behind closed doors. But deadlines piled up, and inspiration gave way to invoices. When he retired at 62, he didn’t throw a party. He just handed in his keys, took the long way home, and listened to the silence.

That’s when the music came back.
In his youth, Eli had played piano quietly — always in private, never in public. Now, with no blueprints to chase, he returned to the keys. Slowly. Gently. A few friends joined him — a bassist who used to drive a bus, a trombonist who sold insurance, and a drummer who once taught math. They started meeting weekly above an old bookstore. No gigs, no names. Just music.

Eventually, they found their way into a small jazz bar — dim, warm, and half-forgotten. That’s where Eli plays now. No spotlight, no talk. Just a glass of red wine, a crooked hat, and a piano that creaks in all the right places. The audience doesn’t clap much. They just nod, like they recognize something they forgot they knew.

Eli doesn’t miss architecture. “Buildings are meant to last,” he says, “but songs... songs are meant to leave.” And so he plays — not to impress, but to remember. To trace old lines in the air. To build something no one can own, but everyone can feel.

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Meet Marco Bellini, the gleaming lone star of the independent dance scene, making you forget any sorrow with his upbeat tunes. Born and raised under the swaying palm trees of Naples, Italy, Bellini crafts sonic euphoria like no other.

Our man Bellini did not find his love in the stomping grounds of Naples’ electrifying night scene. Instead, the sun-soaked streets, vibrant markets, and the rhythmic cadence of the Mediterranean waves stirred something deep. This culminated in his irresistible brainchild—"The Land of No Tomorrow"—a track so hopelessly optimistic that it made the Billboard's 'Sad Songs' list for the sheer irony.

Marco, with his deft touch, keeps it simple—'Simple is the new sexy,' he once quipped, half-twirling his pencil-thin moustache. He convinces you there's always a dance party waiting around the corner, even in a world that often sounds like a broken record. His tunes are a sonic Piña Colada—sweet, refreshing, and leaving you high on life. As Marco himself proclaims, "a tempo that resonates with the heartbeat of joy, that's my journey's end."

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Born and raised in Ventura, California, Jett Ralston grew up in a garage that smelled like motor oil, vinyl records, and his father’s hair pomade. While other kids watched cartoons, Jett memorized the Grease soundtrack and tried to mirror Elvis's hip sway in the hallway mirror. His voice—low, smoky, and just a little rough around the edges—carries the DNA of that golden age, but never feels stuck in it.

Jett’s debut single “Through Me” (feat. Dolores Queen) is a cinematic slow-burn: part lost love, part lounge confession. Produced exclusively for Filodyo, the track fuses analog charm with subtle modern edges, pairing his velvet baritone with Dolores Queen’s haunting harmonies. He doesn’t try to be Elvis — but he sings like someone who misses that kind of honesty on stage.

With a sound caught somewhere between a flickering jukebox and a midnight highway, Jett Ralston is not here for nostalgia — he's here to make old souls feel seen again.

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Introducing the globe-trotting dance dynamo, Sebastian, affectionally dubbed the 'Duke of Disco'. Born and raised among the vibrant and pulsating rhythms of Ibiza's legendary nightlife, Sebastian’s music etches smiles on the faces of anyone within earshot.

Sharpening his musical teeth on the sun-baked terraces of Spain's party capital, our indie ingénue soon became a stalwart figure within the local music scene. Known as much for his wicked sense of humor as for his irresistible beats, Sebastian's talent lies not only in songwriting but also in adding an auditory zest that’s like a surprise party for your eardrums.

His magnum opus, "Master Plan (feat Nora)", is the sparkling crown jewel of his dance floor couture. As unpredictable as a bull in a china shop and as spectacular as a shooting star, the track bursts with contagious energy. You’ll find yourself irresistibly entwined in a rhythmical rave, whether you’re shaking it out on the dance floor or boom-bombing your tedious Tuesday.

A maestro of merriment and melody, Sebastian serves up an infectious blend of dance with a generous side of joy. Get ready, disco divas and groove gurus alike, the 'Duke of Disco’ is in town, dishing out fresh altitude to your attitude, one beat at a time.

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Get your dancing shoes on and your party hats ready–here comes Party Starters, Canada's dynamite DJ duo primed to kick-start your weekend. Sending electronic pulses through the Maple Leaf country's veins, these two lads have nailed the happy-go-round ride of the dance genre.

The duo, known for their contagious beats, hail from the frosty yet fiery streets of Toronto. Putting the 'art' in 'party', they're no strangers to the late-night club scene, often seen spinning grooves till the break of dawn like caffeine-fuelled squirrels on a workout wheel. And while these gents are the core of the group, they also collaborate with several vocalists, adding that sprinkle of pizzazz on top. One such partnership gifted the world with their touted masterstroke, "Last Chance"—a euphoric anthem that would make even the gloomiest Gus tap his foot.

With "Last Chance," and its soul-stirring female vocals, Party Starters remind us that every party, every moment is a 'last chance' to let loose and celebrate life. And they aren't about to let us forget it. Their music is a shot of happiness delivered straight to your eager eardrums, wrapped in a rhythm too intoxicating to resist. So, next time you're looking for a good time, remember, Party Starters is always ready to hit 'play' on your fun.

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Sara Durian is Germany’s undisputed disco queen, electrifying dance floors since the early 2000s with her glitter-drenched beats and futuristic soul. Born in Düsseldorf and raised on a steady diet of Kraftwerk, Donna Summer, and underground Berlin house parties, Sara blends retro grooves with neon-drenched modernity. Her signature sound? A cosmic fusion of French touch, Eurodisco, and synth-heavy pop—unmistakably hers, instantly addictive.

From smoky Berlin clubs to Tokyo fashion runways, Sara has turned every stage into a mirrorball-lit sanctuary. Her voice—sultry, robotic, divine—has been sampled by countless DJs but never duplicated. Whether she’s spinning vinyl or headlining queer festivals across Europe, Sara owns the night like a shimmering phantom of funk.

Still active and more radiant than ever, her legacy is not nostalgia—it’s now. With platinum blond curls and chrome stilettos, she struts through time with a wink and a bass drop.

Her mantra? “All drama, all disco.”

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Ian Merrow is an alternative singer-songwriter from the misty shores of Brighton, UK, whose music lives quietly but powerfully—exclusively on Filodyo. Blending melancholic guitar textures with intimate, confessional lyrics, Ian crafts songs that feel like late-night thoughts you were never meant to say out loud. His sound walks the line between indie rock and cinematic pop, echoing the raw sensitivity of artists like Jeff Buckley and the atmospheric pull of early Radiohead.

Rather than chasing the mainstream, Ian chose to remain deliberately off-grid. He records in his small seaside flat, using second-hand gear and a notebook full of scribbled lines. For him, imperfection is part of the truth. His debut track "Runaway Light" introduced listeners to a world of quiet emotional urgency, where love, regret, and longing flicker like headlights in the fog.

Ian’s connection to Filodyo wasn’t just a distribution decision—it was an artistic choice. “It’s the only platform that lets me stay invisible and be heard at the same time,” he says. No social media, no interviews, no labels. Just music. And for those who find him, it's like stumbling upon a secret worth keeping.

With each release, Ian continues to prove that volume isn’t necessary to make an impact. His songs don’t shout — they haunt.

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Soulful indie magic and panache from the heart of France, Liora Senvelle has more to her than what meets the eyes and hits the ears. You may not have heard of her until now, but this French enchantress wants to change that—the independent music world's ultimate contradiction, Senvelle is both peculiarly familiar and enthrallingly foreign.

Hailing from the romantic city of Paris, Liora interprets music like a Monet painting—dabbling melodies and harmonies amidst her sonic tapestry. Clear your mind, put your feet up, and watch the Eiffel Tower in the distance as you lose yourself in Senvelle's sonic portraits. With a humor as rich as a freshly baked croissant and a voice warmer than the French Riviera, she's not your typical chanteuse.

Her standout ballad 'You Crash' is an invitation to a dramatic tête-à-tête with raw, unfiltered emotion. Reminiscent of your first wine-soaked heartbreak, it hits you with a wallop of an oh là là!. Senvelle is climbing that Parisian cobblestone hill to stardom, and it won't be long before she's basking in the glow of the independent music scene's city lights.

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Wade Hollis doesn’t chase the spotlight — he moves through the world like a shadow at dusk, quietly carving songs out of silence and sand. Born somewhere between the border towns of New Mexico and West Texas, he grew up surrounded by static-filled radio, motel ceilings, and the hum of distant freight trains.

His voice is weathered, like desert wood — raw, honest, and unpolished. Every lyric he writes feels like a road he’s driven a hundred times and still doesn’t fully understand. There’s no big team behind him, no hometown hero narrative. Just a guitar, a gravel road, and the ache of never quite belonging.

Hollis doesn’t stream anywhere else. His music lives exclusively on Filodyo and NOT FM, like postcards from a place most people drive past but never stop to feel. If you’ve ever stared out of a car window at 2 a.m. and felt both free and completely lost — you’ve already heard Wade Hollis, whether you knew it or not.

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Romi Sage doesn't chase the spotlight — he teases it. With a smirk behind every lyric and a groove under every syllable, Romi walks the fine line between smooth and subversive. Born in Lisbon and raised between record shops and rooftop parties, he grew up idolizing the effortless cool of Prince, the rhythmic swagger of George Michael, and the punchy charm of early 2000s pop.

His voice slides — not in haste, but in style. It dances over slap basslines and syncopated guitar licks like it’s dodging commitment. Romi doesn’t just sing about love; he dissects it with irony, flirts with it, then leaves it on read. His stage presence is magnetic — not because he demands attention, but because he never asks for it.

Beneath the glam and glitter, though, there’s always a crack. That’s where Romi shines the most — in the clever melancholy, the playful ache, the smile that knows better. His performances are less about perfection, more about pulse.

Plastic Skies & Paper Towns isn’t a love song. It’s a stylish spiral — romantic delusion in disco heels. It's funk with a wink. And with Romi Sage at the mic, it’s impossible to ignore.

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Scoot over, Marley, there’s a new reggae sheriff in town. Straight from the sunny sidewalks of Kingston, Jamaica, the Dreadlock Boys are laying down fresh beats in the reggae scene.

This pair of plaited prodigies isn't your grandma's reggae. Combining traditional roots rhythms with just a hint of ska spice and a not-so-subtle sprinkle of dancehall energy, these boys aren't just playing by the book – they’re writing their own. And don't let that laid-back island vibe fool you; these guys are as serious about making you laugh as they are about perfecting the offbeat.

Their standout single "Riddim of Peace" might just be the happiest jam this side of Montego Bay. With its earworm melody and bouncy bassline, it’s as infectious as a belly laugh in a silent library. It's the kind of track that leaves the grumpiest of gurners grinning like a Cheshire cat at an all-you-can-eat fish buffet.

So come, sit, and sway to the soothing sounds of the Dreadlock Boys. They'll be your pint-sized purveyors of peace, your lyrical lifesavers when the going gets tough. After all, joy does come in the morning and the Dreadlock Boys are here to serve it up with a side of reggae, none of those nasty grimaces, thank you very much.

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With a sound as vibrant and electric as the city skyline, Emberlight sparkles atop the New York music scene like a well-placed disco ball. This dazzling fem duo is crafting dance-centric eargasms in a city that never sleeps, and admirers say the afterbuzz is real.

Maybe it's the infectious charm of Jade and Sapphire, the synth-crafting mavens behind Emberlight - a happy byproduct of insomnia spent pumping out beats and laughing into the eternity of the early dawn. Or perhaps it's the uncanny ability to paint every corner of your brain with catchy hooks and foot-shaking rhythms, the kind that leaves you humming in the bathroom mirror, hours after the party ends.

"The secret?" Jade says, turning a knob on her mixer, before glancing up with twinkling eyes of mischief, "is pizza slices at 3am. New York's finest greased cardboard cuisine. That's where the magic happens." Sapphire rolls her eyes, fiddling with a tangled synth cable, "It's synesthesia," she corrects, "Our music tastes like a pepperoni pizza."

Their standout track "Afterglow" is proof enough - drenched in sunlight, the dance anthem bounces around your heart like a cute kick-ass kangaroo playing jump rope. It glistens and pops with precisely the kind of joy-sparking energy we need in these seriously grey times. Emberlight crafts electronic music that ignites the dancefloor, and keeps the embers burning long after last call. And isn't that a delicious nightcap to sip on?

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Wade Hollis doesn’t chase the spotlight — he moves through the world like a shadow at dusk, quietly carving songs out of silence and sand. Born somewhere between the border towns of New Mexico and West Texas, he grew up surrounded by static-filled radio, motel ceilings, and the hum of distant freight trains.

His voice is weathered, like desert wood — raw, honest, and unpolished. Every lyric he writes feels like a road he’s driven a hundred times and still doesn’t fully understand. There’s no big team behind him, no hometown hero narrative. Just a guitar, a gravel road, and the ache of never quite belonging.

Hollis doesn’t stream anywhere else. His music lives exclusively on Filodyo and NOT FM, like postcards from a place most people drive past but never stop to feel. If you’ve ever stared out of a car window at 2 a.m. and felt both free and completely lost — you’ve already heard Wade Hollis, whether you knew it or not.

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Soleil Vega is the kind of artist who can turn a rainy Tuesday into a rooftop party. Born and raised in Brighton, UK, she grew up surrounded by her mother’s old soul records and the pulse of the underground dance scene. Her music lives at the intersection of deep house grooves, pop sparkle, and feel-good R&B touches, driven by radiant vocals and unapologetically joyful lyrics.

Her breakout track “My Kitchen Stage” is a celebration of everyday magic—the kind you find dancing alone at home with a spatula mic in hand. The track blends warm house rhythms with bouncy basslines and a shimmering vocal delivery that makes you want to throw open the windows and turn the volume all the way up. It’s infectious, playful, and deeply personal.

Soleil’s sound is sun-kissed but grounded. She writes about friendship, late-night cravings, heartbreak, and finding your light—in the club, in the kitchen, or in your own reflection. And when she performs, it’s not a show, it’s a shared moment. Always real, always radiant.

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Lina Mour is a French-born vocalist and songwriter blending high-octane Eurodance energy with the emotional weight of soulful pop. Growing up in the suburbs of Lyon, Lina was raised on a steady mix of gospel vocals, ‘90s dance anthems, and gritty French rap. This eclectic influence shaped her bold sonic identity — where throbbing 4/4 beats meet orchestral stabs, and where raw emotion finds its home on the dancefloor.

Her latest single, “Gravity Override,” is a high-energy anthem that collides hip house rap verses with a soaring, mantra-like chorus. It’s a throwback to the golden age of Eurodance, but with modern production and an unapologetic attitude. With pounding kicks, aggressive synths, and trance-tinged melodic layers, the track is built for sweaty club nights, neon-lit workouts, and every moment when reality feels too heavy to carry.

Lina describes the track as “not just about defying gravity — but defying expectation.” Behind the infectious hook lies a personal story of reclaiming freedom, breaking out of everyday repetition, and choosing joy over inertia. In her words: “It’s about walking down the street with a storm in your chest but a beat in your step.”

Beyond music, Lina is quickly becoming a visual icon in her own right. Her streetwear aesthetic, nostalgic references, and empowering live shows are drawing comparisons to the likes of Technotronic and Crystal Waters — yet Lina’s vision is firmly rooted in the present. She isn’t here to recreate the past. She’s here to override it.

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Straight out of the indie heartland, meet Eliza Turing, the happy-go-lucky troubadour with a knack for knitting melodies that stick to your soul. Turing, unmistakably named in honor of her Silicon Valley roots, is a dose of sunshine in melancholic indie sound, with the main weapon in her musical arsenal being her 'filodyo' in enchanting harmony with her lyrics.

Every indie artist has their quirkiest, and Turing isn’t exempt. Yes, her crafty way of turning our text messages into her songs, it's like she's reading your chatbox through her chords. And yet, she carries an uncanny ability to transcribe these frivolous life ontologies into ballads with resilience and ample generosity – the persona aside her cat-loving nature.

Her standout track "Twilight" is a testament to this, translating the day's end languor into a jovial indie anthem that sets your feet tapping and heart humming. Turing taps into the secret sauce of scoring happiness, infusing a vibrant, peppy melody into her music.

So next time the day weighs heavy, your vibe seeks the indie humming, or perhaps, your feline friend needs a den companion, you know whose Soundcloud account to check out. No autographs, please, Turing only signs on music sheets, with notes, duck!

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Imagine the grit and spirit of Seattle's best alternative music, colored with the blues of an often-drizzly city. Enter Dax Merrill, an artist who manages to distill the emotional richness of his surroundings into his melancholic masterpieces.

Dax hails from the birthplace of grunge, drawing upon the city's legacy with his murky, atmospheric guitar riffs and a voice that's gravelly yet beautiful. His music is an evocative blend of the gloomy skies and evergreen optimism of Seattle, weaved seamlessly within the fabric of his melancholic melodies.

From his mother's garage, he first strummed out the notes of a self-taught spells. His most notable song, "Memories That Stay", is a haunting testament to his past—a cathartic narration of his journey and a tribute to his resilient spirit.

Dax Merrill is as real as it gets, mates—unapologetically raw, generously insightful, undeniably talented. He's your heart's post-rain fog, the echoing muse on those sleepless nights. Listening to Dax is like tracing the outline of your own emotions, one chord at a time. So grab your headphones and let this Seattle-sound virtuoso take you on a sonorous adventure of an indie kind.

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“If it doesn’t ask questions, it’s not music.”

LYA (pronounced “Lie-uh”) is a genre-defying artist from Berlin whose roots stretch from conservatory string quartets to the depths of fog-drenched warehouse raves. A classically trained violinist who once performed Vivaldi at age nine, she left formal music behind in her early 20s to pursue something more fractured, more real. What emerged was a sound as delicate as it is defiant—where harpsichords coexist with 2-step beats, and questions matter more than answers.

Her music exists in a liminal zone: somewhere between dance and disassociation, pop and poetry, cathedral and club. LYA often weaves spoken-word passages into her songs, transforming internal monologues into melodic mantras. Vocals—sometimes her own, sometimes spliced and AI-shifted—glide over textured layers of cello, muted synths, and ambient distortion. Think: if Imogen Heap grew up listening to Burial and wrote haikus in code.

LYA’s debut EP “Syntax of Sleep” was a quiet cult success among insomniac circles on Bandcamp, praised for its “introspective maximalism.” Her live sets, often accompanied by generative visuals and interactive lighting that reacts to audience movement, blur the line between concert and hallucination. She isn’t afraid of silence, nor of noise. Both, to her, are forms of rhythm.

LYA doesn’t write songs to explain. She writes them to wonder. “What’s It Made Of?”—her latest single via notfm—isn’t just a title. It’s a dare. A whisper in the hallway between thoughts. A reminder that meaning isn’t always the point.

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Mark Martian is one of the most elusive figures in the music world, and his mysterious persona has left many fans wondering—could he really be from Mars?

Known for using the alias Martian Mark during his collaborations, this enigmatic producer has somehow managed to evade the spotlight completely. No interviews, no photos, no videos—Mark is practically a ghost. Some say it’s part of his brand, while others speculate wildly. Who knows?

Maybe while Elon Musk dreams of building colonies on Mars, Mark’s already here, quietly making beats after hitching a ride from the Red Planet’s first neighborhood.

Despite the secrecy surrounding him, one thing’s clear: Mark’s music speaks volumes. His deep house tracks pulse with interstellar vibes, his pop productions are out-of-this-world catchy, and his funk grooves are, well, otherworldly.

Whether he’s blending cosmic synths with soulful beats or dropping funk-infused rhythms, his style keeps listeners hooked and guessing. You can hear his work across platforms, but his music truly shines on Filodyo, where you might catch the next great Martian anthem—if he doesn’t beam it up first.

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Born from the concrete veins of New York City’s underground, The 5th Exit is not just a band — it's a warning siren echoing through the alleys of Brooklyn. Blending the unapologetic grit of East Coast punk with the swagger of early-2000s hip-hop, their music punches through the noise like a subway train in a blackout.

The band was formed in late 2023 in a condemned warehouse turned DIY venue in Bushwick, after a street brawl-turned-jam-session between strangers. The result? Five misfits who had no plan — just noise, energy, and something to scream.

Members:
🎤 Jayno Blakk (Lead Vocals / Chaos Designer)
A former graffiti artist with a voice like broken glass in a hurricane. Born in Flatbush, Jayno spits lyrics like they’re Molotovs, laced with rage and raw truth. Known for performing barefoot and bleeding by the end of every show.

🎸 Noelle "Nox" Vega (Lead Guitar / FX Wizard)
Puerto Rican shredder with a physics degree and a pedalboard built from junkyard parts. She speaks three languages — four if you count distortion. Her solos? They don’t melt faces; they dissolve them.

🥁 Koda Rinz (Drums / Street Philosopher)
Half-poet, half-brawler. Raised by subway dancers and vinyl collectors, Koda’s beats sound like trash cans getting kicked down tenement stairwells — in perfect time. Always drumming, even in his sleep.

🎹 Echo Rowe (Synths / Scream Textures / Visuals)
The silent one. Echo doesn’t talk much, but his synth work sounds like a riot at 3AM. Also responsible for their chaotic visuals and the recurring raven motif in their shows. Rumor has it he lives in an abandoned radio tower in Queens.

🎸 Twitchy Lex (Bass / Vibe Damage Control)
Lex is the glue, or maybe the duct tape. Raised on R&B but corrupted by noise rock, he brings the groove — the dangerous kind that gets under your skin and sets off car alarms.

Their Breakout Track: "Get Out My Way"
A sonic punch to the throat, "Get Out My Way" is a war cry against complacency, gentrification, and anyone walking slow on a New York sidewalk. With a chorus that hits like a riot chant and verses that spit pure venom, it’s already being banned from small-town radio — which only makes it louder.

The 5th Exit isn’t asking for your attention. They’re taking it.
You can either move... or get run over.

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